Entwined
by bornatexasgirl
Summary: Five ways Jackson and Melissa could have met, instead of the plane crash. A five-shot in progress.
1. College

Southern California is cold.

It sweeps through his dark hair, nips at his cheeks, and has him shoving his hands into the pockets of his leather jacket, curling his fingers into the warm retreat of the fabric. He spares a glance at the door of his dormitory, almost cringing at what he would find if were to re-enter the apartment. His roommate, Eric McGorrill, is the typical wannabe-frat boy. This morning, however, he'll be hungover and waking up in a pool of his own blood _(beer bottles don't break on the averge stomach), _and other bodily fluids that Cody Jackson would, really, rather not speak of. It was bad enough that he had been woken up by some half-drunk idiot had called him at three in the morning to come haul Eric home from a party - to which, he was not invited - and he prefers not to be present when that beer bottle, along with several other regrets, comes back to bite him in the ass.

His decision had come the moment he had to drag Eric through the door - as soon as the idiot woke up, he'd escape for coffee and breakfast, and leave Eric to sort himself out. Eric is a good friend, don't get him wrong, but he's also a bit of an idiot. He keeps his eyes focused on the cobblestone sidewalk that leads to the coffee cart, needing a caffeine fix after his expedition.

Of course, when one is more focused on the random patterns that can be found in a cobblestone sidewalk, one tends to not see a person coming from the other direction and inevitably, bodies will collide. His arms shoot out and wrap around the small, female body he had crashed into to keep her from toppling to the ground. When he finally looks up, he holds back the urge to laugh at the sight before him. Oh, she is beautiful but he could tell that the previous night had been particularly memorable for her.

Her black hair is pulled back into a matted knot at the back of her head and her brown eyes - dark, rich brown, he notes - are bloodshot. There is the faintest ring of smudged mascara around her eyes and her lipstick has rubbed off - the only trace of it is the light smudge on her cheek. Her clothes were tattered. He thinks she might have been wearing a black shirt and jeans at some point in time but he's not quite sure.

"Whoa, hey!" he chuckles hoarsely, voice still a soft rasp from sleep, hefting her back up into the proper, upright position. "You alright?"

"Fine." she nods, grinning wryly. "I'm going to kill Taylor Hagan, but I'm fine."

Her smile is pretty, and when he meets her eyes again, it throws him for a loop.

Or three.

He can ignore the overall visage of hungover sorority girl that she's currently presenting for the world, if she'll smile and look at him like that, again. It's been a while since any girl's even bothered to give him a second glance, much less look at him like he's sex. On legs.

"I'm Jackson." He rasps, holding her biceps.

She fumbles and trips over her words before her voice is once again her own and what comes out of her mouth is reminiscent of the squeak, one expects to hear from a timid little house mouse. _Not _a fully grown, slightly hungover college student. "M-Melissa."

"It's nice to meet you, Melissa." his smile is shy but he hopes it'll help her relax a bit. He spares a quick glance over her shoulder, noticing the small blonde that's approaching with two cups of coffee in hand. While he does hate to release her, having just met her, but he really has no interest in meeting any blondes before he's had at least three cups of coffee. And, a bowl of sugar coated cardboard. "I see your friend coming back. Enjoy your coffee, Melissa."

With that, he squeezes her arms and side-steps around her to get to the coffee cart.

He only turns back to her when he hears the squeak of a response she had managed before he's complete out of sight. He watches out of the corner of his eye as she links arms with the blonde and heads toward the women's dormitory, shaking her head in response to what must be a steady stream of questions.

"Coffee, black. Two sugars."

He pays the vendor and makes his way to the dining hall for that sugar coated cardboard. Although, he'll be making this last as long as possible because the last thing he feels like doing on a Saturday is dealing Eric and his various bodily functions and fluids.

In the back of his mind, he's secretly hoping to run into Melissa again.


	2. Barnes & Noble

2.) Barnes and Noble Bookstore

Aside from the music store that's tucked in between a cafe and a clothing store, two doors down, the Barnes and Noble bookstore is one of his favorite places to be. The rich scent of musty paper, Columbian roast coffee, and something a little sweet kept him there for hours. Well that, and the portion of the bookstore that had been devoted entirely every ounce musical knowledge one could glean from the pages of a book. Just last week, he'd learned three new guitar chords, a way to correct his terrible form while playing drums, and why marching band is killer. Although, he's not sure he agrees with the last one, the first one had done wonders for his song-writing, and the second had distanced him from his chiropracter.

Yes.

He enjoys this store.

So much so, he often loses track of where he is amongst the shelves. He'd gone from looking for a new _Science Fiction _novel for his friend's little brother Alexander, to browsing the _History _shelves, without realizing he'd moved an inch, much less fifteen feet. The music section, where he spends the majority of his time, shifts into the art section along the same wall. The change is marked by the color on the wall behind the shelves; cool taupe fading into a shimmering bronze toned ivory.

It takes him several minutes, and a few dozen books on paintbrushes, to realize that he's no longer looking at one of three shelves devoted to piano. But, by then, he's already been drawn in by a book explaining the difference between the Renaissance artists; how the era changed the approach to art and why the _Mona Lisa_'s real attraction is the mystery behind who it actually depicts. A presence sweeps in behind him, feminine if the distinct fragrance of flowers and vanilla is anything to go by, and lips just brush the shell of his ear.

"Yes," her voice is soft and warm; a damp heat in his ear that sways with a melody, with laughter. "The Ninja Turtles were named after Renaissance artists."

"I wasn't thinking that."

Liar.

He so was.

But, that had been the only words his brain could conjure in the presence of this mystery girl. When he turns around, his lungs expell all oxygen therein, and he's suddenly really glad he lied about his inability to leave that stage of his life that meant that he was a Ninja Turtle for Halloween for four years straight. She is far too beautiful and smart and he doesn't want to ruin even the slightest possibility that she will stay around for a conversation.

"Are you breathing?" she laughs, plucking the book from his hand. "I've only been in this city a week, but even I can tell you'd much rather be reading a book about music than art." His eyes narrow and her laughter subsides, but only a little. "Your hands. They're callused but you've been tapping the same beat with your foot for ten minutes. Guitar and drums?"

"Yes." his drawl is suspicious.

She snaps the book shut and slips it back on the shelf. "I'm not stalking you - I just have a knack for people."

"Artist?"

She nods sheepishly. "Melissa Wu." her name sounds dry and soft in her mouth. "But you can call me, Mel."

"I'm Jackson. Well, legally, Cody Jackson, but you can call me Jackson." Jackson laughs nervously - ah hell, this girl is throwing him off balance, big time.

"Nice to meet you Jackson." Melissa smiles and it's bright and happy and makes him feel a little loopy.

They talk - bicker like children - about everything under the sun and nothing at all. She recommends a book about art, something about the integration of art and music being the key to inspiration. He doesn't know the exact name of it, but he buys it just the same. She buys a book about music, if only because he tells her it's his favorite, and that his copy at home is worn out. It could be a good conversation starter, should they see each other, again, which seems likely. Especially considering the fact that her phone number is on the back of the receipt crumpled in his pocket and she drew his phone number on the back of her hand, in pen.

Yes.

Meeting again, seemed very likely.


End file.
